


Club Kids

by RosyTintedFlash



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Dubious Ethics, Gaslighting, Illegal Activities, M/M, Narcissism, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28334910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosyTintedFlash/pseuds/RosyTintedFlash
Summary: Been reading about the whole club kid thing from the 90's and felt like indulging myself a bit. I'm a very "go with the flow" writer as I really do it for my own amusement- all I know right now is Oliver is big in the club kid scene and Elio, newly in NYC and trying to find his place of belonging as a gay kid in the 90's, finds himself attracted to the increasingly seedy club scene.Oliver is 24 and Elio is 17- same ages from the book/movie.I'll update tags as I go. There will be angst.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Doe-Eyed and Lonely

Elio had been in the city for a few weeks now, and things weren't going as planned. He'd always heard that New York City was the place for anyone outside of society's norms, and as a gay kid growing up in the southern United States- he figured NYC would be the place for him. But what he found was nothing warm nor welcoming; it was cold and impersonal. While the south was as bigoted as places come, the people were genuinely friendly. Always willing to strike up a conversation. 

New York was not like that. 

Instead of smiling faces and friendly greetings, there were empty glances that quickly turned stand-offish. So, desperate for some sort of connection, he decided to check out a scene he'd been warned about. A scene his friend from home shuddered as she recounted the drug-fueled dance clubs that often preyed upon young, beautiful men. Sometimes even boys. At 17, Elio wasn't sure which he would be classified as. He knew he was taking a risk by showing up to the line that lead to one of the most famous night clubs in the world, _The Limelight_. But he felt confident enough in his own identity and morals that he was willing to give it a shot. 

The line was full of mostly men dressed in outlandish costumes- glitter, angel wings, sheer outfits, and some people were hardly wearing what could be classified as "outfits" at all. Elio self-consciously glanced down at his attire. A band t-shirt, jeans, and converse. He scoffed at the fact that he somehow found himself in yet another situation where he was again an outcast. An outcast... _amongst_ outcasts. He was suddenly pulled from his loathing with a sharp poke to the ribs, letting out an airy gasp as he looked to the man... er, woman? ...He wasn't sure. But he knew one thing: he was suddenly terrified. He started to back up, ready to make a break for it out of sheer panic (damn, so much for confidence) but the person grabbed him by the shoulder, long, sharp red nails digging into his skin. 

"Sweetheart..." the man (judging by the voice) cooed. "What are you doing here, honey? You don't belong here," he said in a gentle cadence, letting his nails lightly graze up his arm. Elio hated the fact that he was shaking, and was even close to tearing up. The expression of the man changed into something decidedly more compassionate. 

"I... I don't belong anywhere, then," he said with a crack in his voice. "I thought this was where I could belong." Despite himself, a tear began to glide down his face. The man clicked his tongue and brushed Elio's hair out of his eyes, his eyes half mirth-filled and half... something Elio couldn't place. 

"I'm the one who decides who gets in, you know. I'm supposed to make sure guests have something to offer. Usually a big personality accompanied by an even bigger sense of tacky fashion. But you..."

"I Know. I'm regular."

"Hush," he said, his gentle tone becoming something else. It was quiet and raspy. "Do you have any idea what sorts of things happen to beautiful boys like you in seedy clubs like these?" Elio knew the man was right to warn him. He couldn't tell if he was doing so honestly or if there was some other motive. Regardless, he couldn't help but feel offended. 

"I survived getting my ass beat by a bunch of rednecks in Texas. Do you think I'm afraid of a bunch of gay men in makeup, dancing in a speed-fueled rage?" The man laughed a genuine laugh that came from the gut. 

"Oh, darling. You aren't special with a story like that. We're all running away from something," he said, finally pulling back his sharp talons. Feeling defeated, Elio sighed and started to leave the line. "Where are you going?" Elio stopped without turning back around to face him.

"You... you don't want me here. It seems pretty obvious, so-"

"Look around, sweetheart. _Everyone_ wants you here," he said, eyeing the line in front of him. Elio turned around and shyly glanced towards the men and it was true; they were staring at him. "You have something to offer this club. People love innocence. Especially when combined with beauty."

"I'm not innocent." The man laughed again and pulled a wrist band from his dress pocket, casually slipping it on Elio's wrist. 

"Of course you aren't, darling. But listen," he continued as he grabbed his hand and walked him past the line. _Am I skipping the line? "_ If at any point you don't feel safe, I want you to say you're with Cleo. And if you take anything you're given and don't feel right, again, ask for Cleo." They were at the door now and he ushered him inside while remaining at the door with a wink. 

"That... that's you?" he asked, suddenly afraid to leave behind his only acquaintance... even if it was just the door-man. He gave a quick nod and one last smile before shutting the door, Elio now inside. And alone. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Maintaining wisdom inside a crazy club like this seemed much more apparent when _outside_ of the club. But inside? Elio quickly found out how easy it was to trust people for no apparent reason at all, other than their friendliness. He should have realized he'd be vulnerable, as hungry as he was for companionship. Because at this very moment, he found himself nearly unable of vocalizing anything at all, other than "no" or "stop", and his feet were jello as he was being "helped" across the dance floor by the friends he had made only an hour ago. 

He knew he was drugged. _My god, how was I this stupid?_ He accepted the drinks given to him; he had told everyone he was 21 but forgot his card and of course everyone knew it was a lie. They didn't let it stop them from showering him with pretty pink cocktails that tasted like lemonade. Elio figured it was alright; they obviously weren't strong. 

They were, however, spiked. Roofied. And now he was helpless as he was being dragged through the crowd. "Shhh, we're going to take you somewhere you can lie down until you feel better" is what one of the men said when he attempted to cry out for help. He soon found himself in a locked bathroom- how long he'd been there, he wasn't sure. But he was on the ground and the two men were making out to his right. Elio figured maybe they really were trying to help him, maybe they weren't the ones who drugged him. Until he heard one of the men talking about him.

"I can't wait to watch you with him..." _Oh. Oh god._

"Cleo" he tried to say, his voice strained and tongue struggling to form the syllables. The men looked down, one of them already pantsless and hard. "Cleo. I'm with Cleo." Elio wasn't sure when or if he actually just imagined the entire thing, but he was now alone in the bathroom. He didn't have any more strength. He let himself fall asleep on the dirty floor. It was disgusting, yet Elio had never felt more relieved in his entire life. 

When he woke up, he was in his apartment. Was his night at the club a dream? _What the fuck..._ He was about ready to turn himself into the nearest insane asylum when he realized a post-it was stuck to his forehead. He grabbed it and forced his eyes to adjust enough to decipher the message: 

_I told you, darling. Pretty boys like you don't belong here. Not alone, anyway. Call the number on the back of this note if you'd like to learn how to survive and possibly even thrive. There is something about you, my dear. Whatever it is should be protected. I can offer you exactly that._

_-Cleo_


	2. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio meets his supposed saviors, but he's put off by their arrogance. 
> 
> Enter Oliver.

"Why the hell did you even let him in, Cleo? The club can't handle press like that. The fact that you had to scrape him off the floor on the first night he entered..."

"I made sure he had a few guardian angels, Oliver. And the men who drugged him have been... handled." Oliver scoffed before sipping on his bloody mary.

The two were at a local diner, about three blocks from The Limelight. Oliver was nursing a hangover while Cleo had ordered a light breakfast of biscuits, sausage, and an egg. 

"You know I don't give a shit about breaking laws," he said calmly, setting down his cup. "But you can't be letting in idiots like this kid. He was a lamb walking into a slaughterhouse. Thank your lucky stars nothing happened to him." He slowly rubbed circles into his temple. 

"I thought he was worth teaching a valuable lesson..." Oliver slowly raised his eyes until they were staring coldly into Cleo's. 

"You set that shit up." 

"Right." Oliver took in a long breath and loudly exhaled, patience wearing thin. "He implicitly trusts me now. And we both know I did him a favor regardless- he would have eventually been taken advantage of anyway, and now he knows better." 

"I'm not interested in taking care of a puppy," he countered, downing the rest of his drink. Cleo smiled knowingly and appeared to be ushering someone to the table. Oliver huffed. "What are you doing?"

"Calling the pup over to his new master," she mumbled through a smile as Elio approached from behind Oliver. Cleo stood up and wrapped the boy in a big hug, tapping his cheek with a light kiss. "I'm so glad to see you safe and in one piece." She ran a hand through his soft, curly hair and showed him to his seat. Oliver purposely avoided eye contact, eyeing his watch. 

"In one piece thanks to you. I really owe you," said Elio with a genuine smile, eyes darting from Cleo to a very large and uninterested looking man at their table. "Um... may I ask who this is?"

"None of your fucking business, kid" immediately flew out of Oliver's mouth before he looked at the brat Cleo had sprung on him despite knowing he had a hangover from hell. He regretted his response instantly. "Christ," he whispered. 

"Uh..." 

"He's just grumpy in the morning, Elio. Take no offense." 

"I apologize." Cleo did a double-take. Did Oliver just apologize?

"It's okay. I get it," Elio meekly replied, staring at his hands until he felt a larger hand beneath his chin, arching his face upwards. 

"I'm Oliver." 

"Okay," Elio snapped, unsure of how he was supposed to feel in this moment. Part of him was happy to be on the right track in finding new friends, but part of him was taken aback by the sheer gull of this man. First being an asshole and just as quickly grabbing his face, expecting immediate groveling? Further spurring on his annoyance was Oliver's expression, which appeared quite amused. 

"He owns the club, dear," Cleo piped up, also appearing relatively amused. Elio blushed, embarrassed by his carelessness. 

"Oh, I... I'm sorry, I just-"

"It's quite alright, Elio. I was a jerk. I really do hope you accept my apology, though. Let me make it up to you?" Elio laughed despite feeling intimidated to the core. He wondered if he was fooling anyone. 

"What, by taking me on a date?" he joked, both attempting to create some levity while also impressing Oliver with his wit. 

"Yes." Elio tilted his head, a skeptical look on his face. 

"Such a cute pup," said Cleo, who was now touching up her blush using a compact mirror. 

"What?" asked Elio, now looking confused. 

"Oh, nothing," she replied, smiling. "So, Elio. I told you I could offer protection," she began, feeling nothing but confidence based on Oliver's uncharacteristic kindness towards this boy, "well, there is no greater protection on the club scene than Oliver. I had a feeling he'd like to take you under his wing. What do you think?" Elio gaped while staring at Cleo incredulously. 

"I mean... I guess? You already saved me once," he said quietly, a tinge of shame coloring his tone. "If you trust Oliver, then so do I. But..." Oliver hadn't even been trying to hide his staring and Elio was starting to feel intimidated. "What do I have to do in return?" 

Cleo practically lit up at this question. 

"Perform." Elio was about to inquire just what exactly this entailed when Oliver piped up.

“No.” Cleo shot him a look of disbelief but didn’t question him. “Elio, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-”

“No. How old are you  _ really _ ?” Elio sighed and looked out the window. 

“Seventeen.” Cleo winced. 

“You will not perform. At least not until you’re eighteen. In the meantime, you will be taken care of. Looked after.” 

“I’m not a fucking child! I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, we all saw just how well you take care of yourself last night.” Elio was getting angry. He realized there was truth to what these two were saying, but he was far too proud to conform to the utterly helpless trope they were trying to force onto him. Just who did they think they were?

“Look, thank you for helping me last night. But I’m not interested in… whatever it is you’re offering,” he said in a clipped tone, shoving the chair back into place. Cleo and Oliver watched him leave the diner. Once he was out of sight, Oliver smiled, resting his chin on his hand. 

“I knew you’d like him,” said Cleo, tossing cash onto the table. “And now you’ve gone and scared him off.” She rolled her eyes, a puff of air forcefully passing through her nose. 

“Nah. We haven’t lost him.” 

“Oh, no?”

“Let’s show him just how much he needs our protection.” Cleo perked up, a devious smile taking her over. 

“What’d you have in mind, darling?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another scary encounter leaves Elio traumatized. 
> 
> Oliver is more than willing to offer a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta strike while the iron is hot. Another chapter. Let's goooooo.

It’d been a week since Elio’s strange encounter with Oliver and Cleo (whom he finally realized was transgendered). While he was desperate for a place of belonging, he quickly eliminated the club scene as a potential new home. He figured there’d be ample opportunity to mingle with plenty of queer-friendly people soon as his orientation for the literal most prestigious fine arts college in the world was in a few short weeks. Julliard. Juilliard. 

A huge reason he and his parents knew he had to make the plunge to New York was the fact that he was a musical genius and managed to impress the professors at essentially every renowned American university. Columbia, Yale, even Harvard. He knew he had to follow his soul on this one, though. He would nourish his gift with music in the best possible environment. He currently found himself standing in front of the building-- such an interesting and alluring structure. This would be home. It had to be. As soon as the semester started, he’d even move into the dorms there where he’d have an incredible view of the city (which certainly beat the dingy studio apartment he currently lived in; not even a single window). Inside those dorms, he would coexist with some of the most talented young adults in the country. 

Smiling at such a promising future so close within reach, he continued walking along the busy sidewalks which were brimming with the sounds of life. He was right to come here. Missteps and all. This was home. 

He was a few blocks from his apartment when it happened. The sun was setting and the noise of the city continued on, so nobody could see or hear Elio’s screaming and struggling as a large, muscular man with a ski mask held him by his shirt against the dirty brick walls of a back alley. 

“Empty those pockets, pretty boy,” demanded a low, rough voice, the grip on Elio’s shirt tightening. His back was being pushed harder and harder against the wall, and one hand was now grasping his neck. “Don’t make me rearrange that face a’ yours.” 

“Fuck, alright!” he managed to respond in an unvoiced whisper, hands shaking as they pulled out his wallet and dropping it to his feet. It was getting harder to breathe right before the man dropped him, Elio barely keeping himself standing, back leaning against the wall for support. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. In, out, in, out. It was almost over. He’d be home soon. Just breathe. He silently repeated this litany until a straight up punch to the face shocked him back into reality, his feet slowly lowering him to the ground as he started upwards in a daze. 

“A kid like you is easy prey, ya know,” he said as he shoved the cash into his pocket and dropped the wallet. Elio watched as the man walked away, still too stunned to process the fact that essentially all of his money was now gone. The money meant to last him until his scholarship funds came through. In three weeks. 

“Oh, god,” he mumbled, oblivious to the blood running down his nose. “I’m fucked. I’m so irrefutably fucked.” The tears started flowing more freely until he began sobbing so hard that he had to gasp for air. 

It was time to suck it up and eat a very large slice of humble pie. 

\--------------------------------------------------

“You’re a student at Julliard? Color me beyond impressed.” Oliver’s tone was nothing but genuine as he sat behind his desk, eyes wide and full of admiration. Elio’s eyes were glued to his worn converse, hands entirely preoccupied with mindless cuticle picking. 

“Thank you,” he replied, eyes making reluctant contact with Oliver’s, a small smile pulling at his lips. “So, yeah. The help… it would be temporary. Just until my scholarship money came through. In about a month, so, uh…”

“What are you at Juilliard for?” 

“Music.”

“Singing? A particular instrument?”

“All instruments. But it was piano and guitar that solidified my acceptance, so. Yeah.”

“You’re quite extraordinary. Elio, please. Accept my help. If anyone in this world deserves it, it’s you.” Elio’s cuticles were starting to bleed, hands becoming shaky. He didn’t notice. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry you had a horrible experience two days in a row. Let me help you, and you will have nothing to fear.” Oliver leaned forward and gently placed his hand over Elio’s, pulling it into his other hand with care. Elio watched, as if in a trance, as the man began dabbing at the blood lighting streaking his fingers. The tissue was soft and moist, with a fresh, comforting smell. Lavender? 

“Stay with me until you’re back on your feet.” 

“I don’t know what you think I am, but… I won’t-” Elio cut himself off, his cheeks beginning to flush. He pulled his hands back. He looked at the red stains in fascination, wondering how they got there. 

“I ask nothing in return. I just want to help. You think I don’t know what it’s like to be new in this city? Nobody interested in me other than creeps or bigots? Well, I do. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I promise you, Elio. My intentions are pure. Nothing will be expected from you.” He placed a bag of ice on the desk, pushing it towards Elio who responded with a look of confusion. 

“For your nose. Trust me, it will help.” Elio eyed the bag of ice, at that moment feeling as if he was no longer a tenant within his own body. The gravity of the danger he carelessly waltzed into two consecutive days was starting to feel too heavy for his lungs to support. He didn’t even notice that Oliver had crossed over towards his chair and wrapped his arms around him, the man’s head resting lightly on his shoulder, as if to say I’m here. You aren’t alone. Trust me. And at that moment, what choice did he have? He leaned his head against Oliver’s and allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of him, tears streaming down his face and creating a tiny pool on Oliver’s shirt. 

He accepted the help. His lease was canceled and he was set up in a large room at Oliver’s rather… extravagant apartment. It was always loud. There were always parties. He didn’t much for them, so he mostly kept to his room. He knew he was afraid. Jumped when touched. Clutching his wallet in a death grip wherever he went. Suspicious of everyone. 

Everyone but Oliver.


End file.
